Of Talking Toys and Memories
by beargirl1393
Summary: Every dwarfling in Erebor wants Dis to play with them, because she makes the best voices for the toys.


**A/N: I don't own any of the characters. Dis, Dwalin, Bofur, and Gimli obviously belong to Tolkein, while Gimizh and the rest of the OCs were borrowed from determamfidd and her excellent story 'Sansukh'. I got the idea from a headcanon that was posted on her blog, and with her permission I wrote this. The title may change, since I'm not that fond of it.**

* * *

Dís wonders how this happened.

Then, of course, she had her answer. Gimli. Always Gimli. Glóin's little star, who was not quite so little any longer.

Watching him try to coax Gimizh to eat while the little lad was going through a particularly fussy period, she had gotten an idea. Picking up the discarded toy warrior by the boy's plate (it was Dwalin at the moment, she noted with amusement) she positioned it beside the plate, ensuring that the miniature war hammer was clenched in one tiny fist before proceeding to wage war against the greens on the boy's plate.

The boy had laughed, enjoying the small show that the princess had put on for him, and he'd eaten everything on his plate.

Gimris was pleased, as she didn't have to deal with Gimizh arguing about eating his vegetables, and Bofur had laughed himself sick at how spot on the impression was. It was the best thing to happen with the Dwalin toy to date.

(Although, once Bilbo talked of Dwalin dolls having tea parties with children in the Shire, that changed.)

After the small show for Gimizh, he started requesting it each time he saw her. She made his Dwalin toy guard cookies and chide him for not eating. When he lost the toy in a bet to Dwalin's eldest, she made his Gimli toy talk. That was, admittedly, one of the ones she was fondest of voicing, and it waged war against roast beef and many other foods that the boy disliked.

And suddenly, it wasn't only Gimizh. Wee Thorin, with a scowl identical to his namesake firmly in place, obligingly ate his dinner before having a cookie under the watchful eye, and occasional reprimand, of his Dwalin toy.

Frerin was more inclined to chew on his Dwalin toy than to ask her to make it speak, but he giggled and watched with wide eyes whenever she had it tell him that cookies were not for breakfast and beards were not for chewing on.

(She would chuckle whenever she saw that Frerin had, once again, started chewing on his father's beard when Dwalin was occupied and didn't notice.)

Balin had, quietly, asked for her to make his favorite toy speak. She had examined the small jeweler's eyeglass and praised the workmanship, but she hadn't been able to find a voice for it. Instead, he watched with awe as she made his Orla doll (the only one in existence, Bofur was more inclined to listen to Orla when she said that she didn't want to be turned into a doll than he had been to listen to Dwalin) spar with his elder brother's Dwalin doll and his Balin doll. Of course, Orla won, at which point Balin nodded and said solemnly that his mother always won when she fought.

(Dís hoped that he would never have cause to doubt that. Orla was a mighty warrior, but accidents could always happen and even the strongest warrior could be felled.)

Other children, led by little Gimizh, came to ask her to make their toys speak as well, to fight against their most hated foods or to simply spar against each other. If she was finished with her duties for the day, she would oblige, but all of the dwarflings knew that there were conditions.

There were some toys, some voices, that she would never do, no matter who asked or how much they pleaded.

(She could still remember telling stories to her boys, doing the voices and playing the part of Durin the Deathless and countless others. She could never consider acting out those stories, making those toys come to life, without thinking of her boys. No, some memories were too painful even after almost eighty years.)

She found that she enjoyed doing it, making the children laugh by playing with their toys with them.

(She once had a pang, looking at a dwarfling with hair just as messy as Kíli's usually tended to be. If her sons had lived, would they have married? Would they have had children? One of them would have needed to, to ensure that there was an heir, but she always stopped herself before she went too far with such thoughts. Dwelling on what could have been, had things been different, hurt far too much for her to do so willingly.)

Her favorite, however, regardless of how many children she played with or how many toys she'd made speak, was Gimizh's Gimli doll. She knew that if Gimli was present, he would have likely been embarrassed to have a doll made after him, even though he would be proud that it was his nephew's favorite toy, and that thought made her smile despite her worry.

(There were no guarantees on a quest, she knew that all too well, and she couldn't stand to lose another she cared for, not again. Her family was dwindling away, leaving her alone, always alone. Gimli had reminded her that she wasn't alone, that she still had family, distant though they were, and she didn't want to lose him too. She had already lost her immediate family to war and dragon fire, she did not want to lose one of her remaining family members to war again.)

Dwalin had grumbled when he first discovered her making one of the Dwalin toys speak, while Orla had only said that it was a perfect imitation before going back to sharpening the blade of her axe, the corners of her mouth just barely turned up. Dis had chuckled before clearing her throat and returning to her imitation of her old friend.

Barís Crystaltongue was the only one who could do better voices when it came to acting out a story or making toys speak, which Dís would admit to freely. The younger dwarrowdam would smile, pleased by the praise from the princess.

It was a small thing, silly and very likely inconsequential in the long run, but Dís enjoyed it.

(Occasionally she could hear murmurs of a long gone voice, reminiscing over the things she had read to the boys, or toys she had made speak. She never did know if hearing that voice, hearing Thorin's words in her mind, helped or harmed, as the memories it pulled forth were bittersweet.)

Still, each time she saw one of the dwarflings smile, heard them laugh, it eased a little of the emptiness that had been left by each loss she had suffered.

(It would never fade, never go away, but the wound was less gaping, the edges less jagged, as time and the company of those she cared for helped her to heal.)


End file.
